Forgiveness
by Moshi Moshi Mai
Summary: It never hurts to pray. [Albel centric]


**Forgiveness**

**H**e can't sleep.

He turns over in his bed, sighing in frustration as the moon's light filters gently through the open window of the inn, highlighting his iridescent hair. Eyes the color of blood stare up at the ceiling, cool beads of sweat forming on the sides of his cat-like face. He knows he's the only one awake at this hour. He knows he's the only one plagued with nightmares of dragons, the only one who feels the indescribable pain as fire scorches vulnerable young flesh, the twist in his chest as a body is sacrificed for his sake.

He unconsciously wraps his working arm around his bandaged one, fingering the worn gauze gently. His metal claw rests on the nightstand, glowing menacingly in the night, a reminder of his failed attempt, a reminder of his father's sacrifice.

Weak.

Useless.

_Maggot._

Growling, he lifts the covers of the thin comforter and swings his lithe legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet touching the wooden floor. He walks soundlessly over to the open window and leans against the sill, comforted somewhat with the wind caressing his face. It's like this every night, it seems. He always wakes up, distraught and vulnerable, reliving the same thing. Over and over again; it plays like a broken record, haunting him. He can only find comfort with himself and the desolate sky above. He has no reason to seek anyone else. They would only laugh at him because he was being a fool.

But why did the dreams keep coming back? It had been nearly a decade since the failed Accession of the Flame. He could now handle himself around dragons. So why? It was a simple question, and yet not a single answer arose within the depths of his confounded mind.

_Father…_

His sharp eyes glaze over as his mind wanders to fading memories of his father. Glou Nox's face stands out the same as it did nine years ago, handsome, strong, and kind. He had looked up to his father and he had wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. They were simple desires from a boy. He never dreamed of disappointing his father, not ever. That fateful day, everything had gone down the drain. Nothing had happened the way he had imagined it would. He had been confident with Glou by his side, but then the beast, in fury, had begun its endless assault of roaring flames and everything had gone wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

_I was wrong._

No, he had not been confident. As he remembers, he remembers the twisting feeling in his gut and how sweaty his palms had been that day. He remembers pretending to be confident; he remembers putting up a façade of bravery. He remembers his father asking him if he was ready, and how he had said he was, more than anything, ready now or never. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

_I lied to you, Father. _

He finds himself kneeling on the ground, his palms flat on the floor on either side of him as he continues to sit on his knees, staring up at the helpless sky. He bows his head in shame in realization of his mistake, a mistake that tore viciously inside of him and left its mark on his left arm. His two-toned hair covers his eyes, hiding the _mistake_ in his eyes as he sits there like a statue and stares at the floor blankly. After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, he finds himself closing his eyes, and his hands, one burnt, the other unmarred, join together in a reluctant prayer.

He doesn't know why he is praying. It's inane and pointless, but something within his soul is pulling at him, and he decides that he will listen to his gut this time.

_Father, please forgive me for failing you. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough. I'm sorry I wasn't confident. I'm sorry I lied to you._

As these words are thought and channeled to the star-filled sky, he feels something heavy lifting off of his back, and he feels considerably lighter. His head clears and he slowly lowers his hands back down to his sides, wondering about what he was thinking. After a moment's contemplation, he stands back up and quietly moves back to his bed, drawing the covers over his slender body and resting his head against the pillow. Lifting up his bandaged arm, he studies it with narrowed eyes, and tries flexing his fingers, a useless attempt. Still, the pain has numbed quite a bit, and he feels that he can rest easy with his sin.

_Thank you._

-Fin.


End file.
